The wind was already dropping and the darkness clearing. The rain reduced to a drizzle and what was left of the ship, its skeleton really, now sat low and quiet in the water. The weather was beginning to warm slightly. It was a miracle, and many threw themselves on their knees to give thanks. But the sea was empty. Of the rest of our fleet there was not a sign.
Fence guessed my thoughts. “Perhaps they have gone on to Virginia.”
“Or perhaps they are drowned,” I responded sadly, having been so close to death myself.
Then came the words we thought we’d never hear.
“Land ahoy,” cried the admiral from his high perch. “Land ahoy.”
And indeed, as I looked, I could see a huge shadow on the sea, a presence before us, like a crouching beast in the water. I was not at all sure that this was really happening. But if this was the dream of a drowning boy, I fervently prayed never to wake from it.
CHAPTER 14
GOODLY LAND
Fence and I had found a piece of wood and floated to land on it, too excited to wait for others. And now we were on what Oldham would have called terra firma. It was amazing the ship hadn’t been dashed on the rocks on the way in. But it had become wedged fast between two of them, about half a mile offshore. And that prevented it from sinking. And us from spilling out.
I felt still the boat’s motion. My exhausted body bore the memory of it, and I kept staggering from side to side. Now, true it is, I had my sea legs. But I was on shore, where waves broke over and over and the birds flew by or pecked in the sand. Seaweed lay in curves and swirls, like letters of the alphabet, and coming off the ocean was a healthy smell of brine, so different from the appalling stink of the ship. My feeling that I was like to vomit, which had been my constant companion for weeks, had gone, and I was instead ravenously hungry. I took several deep breaths, and gasped as the fresh air hit my lungs.
I felt under my shirt and jerkin, as had become my habit — though on the ship, so as not to cause suspicion, I would pretend to be rubbing my lice. The cipher was still there. Useless it might be, but its presence was a comfort.
Fence and I fell asleep where we landed, on the edge of the water. Fence was sucking the thumb of his gloved hand. I could almost taste the dirty fabric of it in my own mouth, but it didn’t seem to bother him. Waking later, thinking I could easily sleep for a hundred years, I glimpsed the smaller outcroppings of rock around our island, which resembled hedgehogs, and watched the clusters of voyagers, still distant on the waves, but approaching.
I began to explore the beach, first having taken off my sodden boots. There hadn’t been that much of them to start with, but now they were rotten from long use, brine, and dog shit. My feet were, for the nonce, as bare as Fence’s, but I realized it wasn’t a comedown. And I was faster without the footwear, which had been flapping around my feet.
Soon I came upon huge sea-land crawlers, very slow, with sleepy blinking eyes that reminded me of Boors. I was a little afraid, but poked one with a stick, whereupon it shut up shop, hiding its head and legs in its horny shell.
“There are legions of insects here,” remarked Boors himself, who had arrived on shore. He sauntered by me, Italian umbrella in hand, as if out for a stroll in town.
Indeed there were. One was creeping up my arm and I knocked it off, leaving a red smear. Winters was close behind Boors, who turned and glared at him.
“I’m in charge now, Spring or Autumn or whatever your name is.” Boors laughed triumphantly into Winters’ face and put his hand on the admiral’s shoulder. “We’re on land, and I’m in charge. On behalf of His Majesty. I am in charge.”
“We shall see about that,” Winters replied grimly.
Boors bowed, his night cap falling onto the sand. The admiral walked on. Boors started to meander along the shore again, but in the other direction. He had left his night cap behind. It was a miracle that despite the storm and his own mangy mindedness, he’d managed to keep it and the umbrella about him all the way to the island.
I ran and put his cap back on his head before watching after him for a moment, but I was soon back to Fence. “The knight and the admiral are at it again.”
“It’s nothing new, Robin. Winters complains of Boors and Boors complains of Winters daily, and although it’s a nuisance and not a good example, it is, I admit, a right welcome change from talk about flies.”
“Hm. I hope Winters wins the fight.” I had nothing else to say on this subject so I changed it. “Could this be the Isle of Devils?”
“Isle of Devils? I don’t know.” He was still only half awake. “We shall have to wait for the pilot, with his instruments and measures, to give us our bearings.”
Others were landing now, having come in on the ship’s small rowboat, which hadn’t been jettisoned, or astride empty barrels, or, like us, on wooden planks, part of the ship’s carcass. Soon the beach was littered with colonists and crew, many of them asleep. Not Scratcher though. He found me and yanked me up by the ear, as was his wont. Behind him, much to my dismay, stood Proule, his body stuck in a perpetual half bow to Scratcher. I had long hoped him drowned — at least, in an uncharitable corner of my mind.
“My servant at sea and on land,” sneered Scratcher, shaking me. “My loyal servant, who threw my comfortable future overboard with my chest.”
“Cockroach,” muttered Proule, bowing deeper. “Hang him, the dishonest varlet.”
“Dishonest? No, sir, not I. Master Thatcher’s chest — your chest, Master Thatcher — was taken from me by burly mariners. I would have saved it had I been able.” I put on the best look of innocence I could muster. And in truth, I really was innocent. That chest had been at least as important to me as to him.
He cuffed me twice, but changed the subject. “My mouth feels as if it’s stuck together with fish glue. Find fresh water, you useless pile, or Proule and I are like to die of thirst.”
“Wait, Robin. I’ll come with you,” called Fence, as I set out across the beach, my feet covered in sand, which thereabouts was pink and fine enough for an hourglass.
“We’ll find water, soon enough, I’m sure of it,” said I. “And as time goes on, much more.”
All manner of jetsam from the ship was already washing up on the shore: wooden planks and ribs, tackling, broken glass, cracked casks, bottles, and spoons. As we walked, I recognized with a thrill of surprise the kerchief I had shoved into the ribs of the hold to stem the leak. It was unmistakable, with its brown and black stripes. Tucking it into my sleeve, I vowed to find its owner and give it back to him.
“Not that he deserves it,” said Fence. “He gave you a good shove, as I recall.”
“Right. He was a swine. But I can’t keep it. I have put the whirr and whoosh of wickedness behind me.” And at that moment, scoured clean by the sea and deposited like the jetsam onto the shell pink beach, I truly thought I had.
We continued searching for water in the edges of a spinney with its stands of strange trees, and along the rim of the sea, into which, experience had taught me, fresh rivulets often emptied. But besides a need for water, my belly rumbled mightily for meat. Would there be food here? Would we eat the sea-land crawlers who carried their houses on their backs? I asked Fence whether he thought them eatable.
“Those be tortoises, Robin, or turtles, as some call them. I’ve seen small ones before. But as to eating one, why, I’ve never done so.”
Could we catch the birds on the beach? They didn’t seem in the least afraid of us. One, indeed, had already landed on my shoulder before swooping away. His neck would be easy enough to wring, should he come back, though I felt sick at the thought of doing the deed.
“I can hear the song of your stomach right loud, Robin,” said Fence. “But to be honest, mine is singing too.”
“Growling, more like.” I tapped my noisy belly.
It was then that we saw it, a dark something farther along the shore, having come to rest in front of a rock. It must have been carried along in the wake of
the ship, and the tide would have brought it in. My heart thudded as we raced towards it. Could it be? Was it possible? Yes, yes, it was. Just what I had wished and prayed for. Scratcher’s sea chest!
CHAPTER 15
OPENING THE CHEST
The chest was rather the worse for wear, damp and dented and draped in seaweed, but luckily in one piece. And it was still as tightly closed as a clam shell. All thoughts of food vanished from my head, though a crab was crawling over the top of the chest, clicking its pincer.
When I knocked it off it joined some other crabs, which were pursuing a small bird with a broken wing. I felt sorry for the bird, which would soon become crabs’ meat, but there was nothing I could do.
I looked around carefully before we moved the chest. There was not a soul nearby, no one to stop us or confide our amazing secret to Scratcher. The voyagers were landing farther down the bay. We could hide the chest in stealth, and visit it at our leisure. But before I returned to my well-worn but risky occupation of pilfering, I had to know whether it might pay off. I sprung the catch, and the lid flew open. There was a smell of mold and seaweed. Inside the chest, wet and smeared but for the most part whole, were the emblems. Three of them. We would need to separate them and hang them to dry. Somewhere deep in the woods, I thought, on twigs and branches, where no one would find them. I imagined papers and pictures hung out like washing, fluttering in the breeze. We would need to be careful though. Here, quite possibly, was the key to our fortune, returned to us like a ball retrieved by a dog for his master. Now it was only necessary to solve the puzzle. How hard could that be? The first emblem, the one that stupid Scratcher had jettisoned overboard, had already yielded at least some of its secrets.
We lugged the chest into the edge of the spinney. Now I had more leisure, I looked closely at the emblem of the cipher wheel, something I’d never been able to do aboard the Valentine. Beneath the emblem was its verse:
If thou art not by birth or fortune blest
With means to live or answer thy desire
With cheerful heart, this cipher doth its best
To bring to pass the thing thou dost require
Pay heed to what these emblems really say
So thou live happy till thy dying day.
I read it out quietly so as not to arouse the suspicion of any who happened to be passing by. I had to clamp my mouth shut to stop myself laughing aloud, but I grinned at Fence. “Look at what it says: this cipher doth its best to bring to pass the thing thou dost require…”
“I wonder what that can be.”
“Why treasure, treasure of course. There must be treasure hid somewhere. If only this were the place … the Isle of Devils.”
“Perchance it is. But lead us not into temptation,” Fence said, although he was grinning right back at me.
Dragging the chest further into the spinney and digging up earth with our hands so we could bury it, at least for the moment, we came upon fresh water, gushings of it. I drank till my belly was full to bursting and tight as a drum; when I moved, I could hear liquid rolling around inside me. Fence had hiccups from drinking too fast. We knew now that we wouldn’t die. Not of thirst, anyway, though possibly from drinking too much. We filled a couple of bottles that had washed up on the beach when we’d finished. This was to show that we had done the job Scratcher had sent us to do.
Then we moved to a drier spot to bury our booty.
Suddenly there were hoots and hollers, as well as clapping, from further up the shore. Admiral Winters seemed about to speak to the voyagers. Fence and I rushed across, slipping on the wet sand and spilling gobs of water from the bottles, as Winters waited for everyone to gather.
“The pilot tells me we lie in the height of thirty-two-and-a-half degrees of northerly latitude, some two hundred and thirty leagues from Virginia.” He paused. “There isn’t a sign of the other ships of the fleet and I hope to God they survived. Offer your prayers for the poor souls aboard. But we have surmounted the storm, as you know, and are, according to my calculations and the pilot’s, safe in the arms of the Bermudas.”
“Baruadas?” asked Boors, bleating twice and blinking.
“No, Sir Thomas. The Bermudas.”
“The Isle of Devils,” the Boatswain said with a low whistle.
Ho Ho.
CHAPTER 16
LOST IN A DREAM
We were in the spinney, the trees hung with spider webs big enough to catch birds; huge spiders crouched at their centres. I had been afraid of them at first, but was no longer, as they didn’t seem to bite. We were examining the emblems, which we had dried and put back in the chest. We had buried it the second time, well away from the water, with a pattern of stones and twigs over the dirt to show us, but no one else, where it was hid. I put the cipher key inside it too.
For a while we’d been unable to visit, except once quickly, to repack the dried emblems in the chest. Like others, we were busy with the everyday chores of staying alive. We had helped build huts, thatching roofs with wild palm leaves from those strange trees around the shoreline. They looked like feather dusters. The trees of the woods in the forest, more familiar to all, had fashioned the walls of our cabins.
My hands were calloused and sore, and my head ached from the continual cuffings Scratcher gave it. But at least I was alive, something I would never have believed a fortnight since. Of course, I had to live with that tyrant Scratcher. I would rather have stayed with Fence, even in a hut the size of a coal hole. Fence, in his turn, lived with Admiral George Winters, while waiting on Boors and swatting flies for him. There were plenty of real ones to swat now we’d come ashore, along with other fliers, creepers, and crawlers. The bugs were bad. The thought of them made me itch. And indeed, I already had several large bites on my arms and legs that looked like the smallpox. Boors must be in heaven, with so many real insects to grouse about. Or hell.
Today Fence and I had met on the beach.
“Peter Fence!”
“Robin Starveling!”
“Starveling no longer. My belly is stuffed with fowl and tortoises.”
“Mine too. And tortoise eggs and fish and crabs. I’m sure I can feel the crabs crawling around inside me. And the voyagers say the crew will roast a pig tonight, to celebrate, as the minister says, our deliverance from the Devil.”
“I know. The ship’s dog caught it by the leg. The men came running, Boors oinked, and I heard it squeal when stuck.”
We laughed at Boors’ madness and at the poor pig’s demise, although true it is it had made me sick to my stomach when I saw it dispatched. I didn’t much care when a man hanged, even if I was obliged to pull on his legs, because he was likely wickeder even than I was and deserved what he got. But I had a soft spot for most animals — except dogs — and hated to see them killed. They’d done nothing wrong. Most of them were as good as I was bad. They were just hanging around minding their own business when someone decided to come calling with a knife to make soup out of them.
Fence hugged me as though we’d not seen each other in years. With one accord, we’d made towards the spinney, where we found the pattern of twigs and stones with difficulty, as some of the markers had vanished, likely in a recent downpour. But find it we did, and dug the chest up again.
“Drag it even deeper into the undergrowth,” I bid him, “so nobody sees us.”
This was done. Puffing from exertion, we spread the emblems out on the spinney floor, putting a small rock on each to prevent it flying away. They were all a little tattered, as well as quite smudged and brittle from their watery adventure, but their verses were still readable; however, the emblem of the ship, the first emblem I’d found, was of course missing, so although I felt we’d got the gist of it, perchance there was more and we’d never be able to solve the puzzle.
“Mayhap Scratcher lost it,” said Fence. “He had it last. Under his shirt.”
“He threw it overboard. Didn’t I tell you?”
“No. Was he drunk?” Fence looked confused
.
“Most likely he was. He certainly is most of the time now. He found two hogsheads of wine washed up, and made me help him roll them along the shore to a clump of rocks and hide them. Every night or two he goes down there to fill his bottle and sometimes Proule’s. The ones we found on the shore. He has enough drink for a year at least. And by then he’ll have made more. He’s experimenting with berries.”
“He’s right horrible when he’s been drinking.” Fence frowned at the memory of it.
“Yes. But then again, he’s almost as bad sober.” My thoughts returned to what we’d been discussing. “He doesn’t still have the ship emblem. But even if he had stowed it somewhere, like the wine, it wouldn’t have done him much good on its own. ‘Go to the Isle of Devils,’ it said. Not much else if I recall. And we’re here. We’re the ones with the other clues … if there are any.”
“I’m sure there are, Robin. Where’s the cipher key?”
“Here.” I took it from the chest. But now, since I’d emerged from the terrors of the tempest, the cipher’s pattern of x’s and y’s had returned to my brain. I knew it backwards and forwards. I’d even dreamed of x’s and y’s, all in a row, dancing across lines of emblem verse. Dancing daemons. I told Fence about them.
“I’ve been having some weird dreams myself, of castles and caves, but I put it down to the tortoise eggs, which I will eat before bed,” he replied. “They’re very rich.”
“You do know your alphabet, right?” I asked, anxious to get going.
“Aye, but not much more.” Fence was staring at the cipher.
“Each letter has five x’s or five y’s or a mix of both next to it.”
“Yes.”
He was silent for a moment, considering. “It seems to me that it must link up with at least one or two of the emblems, which have letters all over them.”
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